


England's Flight

by SkyEverett



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Countries are guardian angels, Countries have wings, Gen, Pushed off a cliff, Wingtalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyEverett/pseuds/SkyEverett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every young guardian has to learn to fly and is usually taught by one of their older siblings.  How will Scotland teach England?</p>
            </blockquote>





	England's Flight

    “C’mon, laddie, just do it already.”  
  
    England looked down over the edge of a very high cliff to the crashing waves below.    
  
    He was scared, but he hoped that his older brother Scotland couldn’t see the slight trembling of his wings.  
  
    “You’re supposed to extend them.” Scotland interrupted England’s thoughts.  The redheaded Scot was lounging on the ground, his back propped up against a rock, and his burnt orange wings splayed out lazily.  Some teacher he was.  He just sat there watching while England was left hanging on what exactly he was supposed to do.  
  
    “I know that,” said England crossly.  He stretched out his wings to their full extent, like he was just waking up for a new day.  
  
    Ironic, considering that this day might be the one in which he dies.  
  
     _All right,_  he thought.   _I’m just going to spread my wings and fall off._     
  
     _One, two, three…_  
  
    England leaned over, but found himself backpedalling frantically.  The drop had suddenly looked too sheer, the waves angry and frightening.  “Something wrong, Arthur?” asked Scotland, a little mockingly.  “’Thought you had this in the bag.”  
  
    “Maybe I  _would_  if you could just come over here and help me, you lazy idiot,” England retorted.  Bloody hell, was he always this annoying?   He tried to stretch his wings again, but this time they were shaking so violently that he had trouble standing his ground. And it was then that he realized his older brother had not snapped back at his retort.  
  
    “Allistor?” England said tentatively.  “Are you—ah!”    
  
    A pair of rough, coarse hands pushed England from behind and before he knew it, he was falling.  
  
    England bit back a scream of terror as the rocks rushed up at him from below.  He was going to die.  He was going to fall against the rocks and break his wings and die.  
  
     _“Don’t worry, Arthur, everything is going to be fine.”_  
  
    England snapped out of his morbid thoughts.  Was that his mother’s voice he just heard?  
  
     _“Just relax.  Spread your wings.”_  
  
    England closed his eyes and obeyed.  He was immediately pulled out of his plummeting descent and into a glide.  The wind seemed less agitated and tickled his wings as he cut through it effortlessly.  As soon as he thought it was safe, he hesitantly opened his eyes.  
  
    He could see his reflection in the water as he glided smoothly across it.  He flapped his wings once and climbed a few feet into the air.  He angled his right wing downward and took a sharp right turn.  His wing barely dipped into the water.  
  
    “Wow,” he whispered.  
  
    He climbed eagerly into the sky now, only stopping to pause when he reached the part above the clouds.  
  
    He was actually  _flying._  
  
    “H . . . hahaha!”  It felt so amazing, to be up here, away from everything.  For the first time, he glimpsed what freedom truly meant.  Seeing only the white of the clouds and the different shades of blue in the sky, it felt so peaceful, but exhilarating.  
  
    He could go anywhere.  He could do anything.  
  
    He literally felt on top of the world.  
  
    “Allistor!  Allistor, look!”  When England finally descended from the clouds, he found that he had come out a lot farther away from the cliff that he had fallen from.  In fact, he had come out directly  _behind_  it.  He could see the orange of his older brother’s wings.  He was standing over the edge of the cliff, scanning the skies—although once he glanced down—for England.    
  
    Suddenly a mischievous thought entered England’s mind. Very quietly, he glided towards the cliff, half amazed at how silent he was, half focused.  This needed to be timed perfectly.  As soon as he could distinguish the feathers on Scotland’s wings, he folded in his wings and cut through the air like a bullet, breaking the silence—even if it was only a little.  
  
    At the last second, England braked by spreading his wings and catching the wind, silently laughing at how his brother still stood oblivious. He flung his bare feet in front of him, aimed them at his brother’s back, right between the wings, and pushed.   _Hard._  
  
    “AAAAAAUGH!” Scotland screamed as he fell over the cliff, barely catching himself before getting soaked with water.  England hovered over the cliff, not yet ready to touch the ground again.  
  
    And definitely not ready to stop laughing any time soon.  
  
    “You little BRAT!” yelled Scotland as he shot up the side of the cliff.  England turned and flew toward the sky as well, looking for a means of escape from the furious redhead behind him.  
  
    But, despite his escape attempt, as soon as he broke through the clouds again, he closed his eyes and felt the wind playing across his face and arms, a feeling he would never want to let go of.  
  
    He soared upward, euphoria practically singing in his wings.  
      
     _Thank you, Mother._


End file.
